A quarter century ago, succeeding in state government
depended on making good connections. Things have changed,
right? So how does one get ahead in politics
these days? Here's a skeptic's view

Essay by John Dowling

Hire a well-connected lobbyist. Write
checks to the right campaigns. Pass
a bill, get a contract. Prosper. Hitch to
the right politician's star, maybe run for
office. Get jobs for friends, build an
organization. And watch business
blossom. Be in demand as a partner in
some venture that depends on the good
will of government. Perhaps move on
to a lucrative career as a lobbyist,
consultant, rainmaker.

Is that all there is? Of course not.
Thousands of Illinoisans who served in
government in the past quarter century
went home with no more reward than a
paycheck and the knowledge that
they made life a little better for their
neighbors. Thousands more put their
shoulders to the wheel of politics in large
or small ways, hoping only that they
could help steer Illinois government to
do, as best they saw it, the right thing.

But it's hard to wave the skeptic away
altogether; one needn't dig deep into
recent history to build the case. Racetrack bailouts. The MSI scandal, in
which Gov. Jim Edgar's most generous
campaign contributors received an
exorbitantly lucrative state contract.
Judges raising campaign funds from the
lawyers whose pleadings they hear.
Unabashed, systematic hiring based on
political loyalties. Scholarships handed
out by lawmakers to students with
political connections. State contracts
and grants for campaign contributors
and the friends of the powerful. Lifestyle
upgrades for public officials, bankrolled
by campaign funds and lobbying groups.
A casino industry, created by legislative
fiat, making millions for influential
investors. Respected elder statesmen
hired to push bills tailored to benefit a
handful of businesses. Hours and hours
of legislative sessions spent jousting
under the colors of trade-group patrons.

No doubt that list falls short of a
complete summation of 25 years' worth
of Illinois government and politics, but it
is evidence of an enduring quality of our
political life: that it often has the appearance of a complex web of "what's in it
for me" transactions aimed primarily at
enhancing the wealth, power or electoral
longevity of those who can acquire
enough chips to command a seat at the
bargaining table.

This is hardly new; competition
among special interests has always been
part of politics. Nor is it entirely unique
to Illinois. It's remarkable mostly
because it has flourished here in an era
in which such transactions have come
under unprecedented, critical scrutiny in
this country. Even in what should have
been a hostile environment, Illinois has
done for this kind of politics what
Henry Ford did for the manufacture of automobiles: institutionalized it,
engineered it ingeniously, practiced it on
a grand scale.

In the age of the sound bite, we
need a catch phrase. So call it "purchase
politics."

This brand of governing has endured
in Illinois in a time when so much else
has changed. The tectonic plates of
regional power have shifted away from
Chicago and downstate Illinois and
toward the suburbs. Women and racial
minorities have gained stature not just as
voters to be courted but as political players in their own right. A global economy
poses new challenges to the state's ability
to foster an economic climate that is
both attractive to businesses and fair to
individuals. Party organizations are
increasingly irrelevant, eclipsed by the
personal organizations of the politicians
at the top of the heap.

Other changes have infused new life
into purchase politics. As television
advertising has become ever more central to campaigns, so has the question of
who will pay for the ads. Running
campaigns and influencing government
have become industries in themselves,
with little interest in changing the environment in which they have sprouted.

The 1980 constitutional amendment
that created single-member districts in
the Illinois House, in place of the three-

24 / October 1999 Illinois Issues

member districts that often left room for
a Democrat to win on Republican turf,
or vice versa, was a misfired populist
missile if there ever was one. It all but
lowered the curtain on the days when
significant numbers of maverick legislators could chart a course without much
worry as to how their votes would be
received by party leaders or PAC contributors. In its place we have platoons
of entrenched incumbents, a handful of
contested races in which candidates
depend on massive infusions of special-interest cash often channeled through
legislative leaders, a General Assembly
where control of the fate of legislation is
so concentrated that the body's membership usually seems to shrink to three or
four by the end of the session.

Recent years have seen some nibbling
at the edges of the "what's in it for me"
culture. Gifts to public officials have
been limited, some fundraising
activities have been curbed, disclosure of
lobbying activity and campaign contributors' identities have been amplified. But
the essential pipelines between government and special interests remain open.
And even change that can stake a legitimate claim to the term "reform" sometimes has a purchase price of its own.
Passage of a ban on the personal use of
campaign funds came only after proponents agreed to a "grandfather" clause:
Politicians could still convert for
personal use an amount equivalent to
their fund's balance at the end of June
1998. A handful even took out loans to
add to their campaign funds, inflating
their potential nest eggs.

Purchase politics has been a means to
political longevity, and the longevity of
its leading practitioners probably has
helped the culture endure. Consider how
many of Illinois' most durable political
leaders of the past quarter century have
been master brokers above all else, people known not so much for advancing a
set of beliefs as for accomplishments,
including simply staying in power. And
consider how long they've stayed: just
three governors in 22 years, one personnel change in legislative leadership in a
generation, one mayor in Chicago for 10
years and counting. When you're on top,
why monkey with the system that put
you there?

If circumstances limit your political
purchasing power, watch out. Jim
Edgar came to office with patronage,
the practice of politically motivated
hiring and firing, presumably curtailed
by the U.S. Supreme Court. Facing an
empty treasury and disinclined to wheel
and deal, he has been labeled in some
quarters as a governor who had little to
show for eight years in office beyond a
balanced budget. But George Ryan,
with a skill and zest for legislative
horse-trading and an overflowing treasury augmented by massive borrowing,
was hailed as the master of the legislature after just five months in office.
Might Ryan have been so successful so
soon partly because he was able, and
willing, to hand out chips on an
unprecedented scale?

And is that altogether a bad thing?
Certainly, measures to advance the
public interest are often greased by the
inclusion of goodies dear to special
interests. In the culture of purchase
politics, the pragmatic politician's surest
strategy to do good for the state as a
whole may very well be to find out what
those whose support is essential want for
themselves or their friends. Working
within the culture at least offers the
prospect of accomplishing something
tangible, hopefully before the next election. Principles or no principles, how far
or fast can you go when you're swimming upstream against a strong current?

But in a democracy, good government hinges not only on what things
government does but also on how it
does things. What the people being
governed think of their government is
vital to the equation. Engaged
voters are the great brake on purchase
politics; as voters disengage, special
interests naturally fill the vacuum. If
those voters see government as a club
operated by and for the benefit of a
very limited membership, why would
they consent to fork over more of
their earnings in taxes? Why vote?
Why participate in any way?

It's hard to imagine a more frightening consequence of the nitty-gritty
practice of modern Illinois politics. 

John Dowling, Illinois news editor for The
Associated Press, covered state government
and politics in Springfield from 1984 to 1991.